Page 42 of The Whispering Night
“L.A. was sopissed,” Bretta adds. Then she grabs the chips back to her and resumes munching.
Winnie’s whole body freezes over. They are beside the Nightmare Puppet Stage, where a sign declares the show will start at one o’clock. People stream around Winnie and the sisters. One guy glares.
“What do you meanJay didn’t come to the show?” Winnie doesn’t mean to shout this, but she definitely shouts this.
“Exactly what I said.” Emma’s face pinches up with apology. Bretta’s face, meanwhile, is a mishmash of indecision while she chews: Does she think Jay is an asshole for skipping his own show? Or is she worried like Emma clearly is?
“Hewasthere,” Emma explains, “but then he left. Like, right before the show. With Councilor Tuesday and an Italian lady. He said he’d be back, but he never showed up. Normally he’s such a reliable Friday—”
Bretta snorts her doubt.
“—and we tried to find you last night to tell you he was gone, but… Well, you weren’t home.”
No, because Winnie was with Erica staring at dead bodies and spewing useless Compendium facts.
“You need a phone,” Bretta says. “Because we were actually pretty worried, Win.”
“Was Jay with you?” Hope lifts Emma’s eyebrows.
“No.” Winnie’s voice is back to being stuck in a tin-can phone. She is a chocolate bar sinking to the bottom of the Little Lake. “Jay wasn’t with me.”And I wasn’t with him because I am a terrible person. “Did you,” she begins, “ask his aunt Lizzy if she’s seen him?”
“Councilor Friday?” Emma shakes her head. “No, but Trevor did call her last night during the show. She didn’t know where he was either.”
Winnie’s head detaches from her spinal column. Her gaze fixes somewhere on the quantum space between Emma and Bretta.I should havebeen there. If I had been there, this wouldn’t have happened.“You said he left with Jeremiah?”
“Yeah, Councilor Tuesday and an Italian lady. Hey, Winnie, is he okay?”
“Probably.” This is a lie, and the twins can hear that. “Thanks for letting me know,” Winnie adds. “I’m going to go find him right now.” She walks away, despite her friends shouting after her. Despite them calling, “Should we do something?”
Maybe he just got pulled onto an extra hunt,Winnie’s brain suggests. Or maybe he turned into a werewolf and is still sleeping it off.It’s the same list of possibilities Winnie conjured last night, except now she has actual evidence to push against her. The Crow promised to harm Winnie’s friends and family; now the woman has probably followed through.
People try to stop Winnie as she roves the Floating Carnival.Can I get a selfie? Hey, will you sign this?She ignores every request. Every face. Brilliant streamers and glittering lights smear around her. She passes the carousel with kelpies instead of horses. The funnel cake stand. The Tilt-A-Whirl. She hears Andrew call out from a Ring-the-Bell stand, where his mallet swing has only gotten him up to the third level.Sylphid.He groans. Then waves.
Winnie doesn’t wave back.
Anyone could be a Diana. A Diana could be anyone.
Calliope music follows her like a horror movie gone wrong. Her fingers straighten at her sides. Her stride lengthens. Her harpy-sharp vision scans and searches for the one face she needs.
She thinks of her sketches of Jay. She thinks of the boy, an orphan and so alone. She thinks of the wolf, cursed and terrified.
Winnie is almost to the Ferris wheel, where dry ice tentacles over the dock, caressing the full moon of the wheel like forest mist. A line is cordoned off—and there,right there,is the target of her hunt: Signora Caterina Martedì stands beside Marcia at the front of the Ferris wheel line.
“Signora,” Winnie declares, “allow me to join you on the jewel of our Floating Carnival.” Shouts of protest erupt from the people waiting in line. Until someone points out: “It’s Wolf Girl! The Midnight Crown!” That shuts everyone up.
“No, no, Winnie,” Marcia says through a pained smile. “Iam riding with the signora.”
The Crow smiles serenely. She was clearly expecting Winnie to confront her. “Of course, Signorina Wednesday. What an honor to ride the Ferris wheel with you. You do not mind, do you, Councilor?”
Marcia’s mouth bobs open. She can’t exactly say no, and Winnie can’t pretend she doesn’t feel a lemon twist of triumph over dominating Marcia so easily.
“Thank you, Councilor Thursday.Ciao ciao.” The signora offers an arm to Winnie, as if they are longtime friends. As iftouchingeach other is a totally normal thing to do.
Winnie takes the Crow’s arm.I’m not afraid of you.Then she smiles—a fake, cold smile. Her locket, she notes, isn’t warming at all.
Strangely, this close, the Crow reminds Winnie of Grandma Harriet— a woman Winnie barely knows and hasn’t seen since Dad disappeared. Harriet and the Crow have similar coloring, similar bearing. They have similar style, too: a scarlet, ankle-length gown undulates dramatically in the breeze. Martedì’s loafers click next to Winnie’s sneakers. A black shawl drips over her shoulder. Her gray hair is loose and wavy.
An attendant whom Winnie vaguely recognizes from Wednesday dinners hurries over to help them strap into a cart. Lights gleam on the Little Lake’s water, pulled like strands of caramel by the current. A chemical, musty smell from the dry ice fills Winnie’s nose. Then she is seated in the cart and the Diana is seated too, straight-backed and elegant, beside her.
